My Wasp In A Jar
by DepressoxEspresso
Summary: Life stained red, night's spent in a daze, huddled in the arms of strangers, wine and smoke a sweet aroma that always seems to taint the air. A man, cold and mysterious, slipping his way through the cracks of her glass castle, shattering her world forever. But in the end, is there any hope for a wasp in a jar?
1. Wine Streaked Like Blood Upon The Floor

___"If there's a single lesson that life teaches us, it's that wishing doesn't make it so."_ _  
― **Lev Grossman**_ _, **The Magicians**_

Red wine swirled around in a cyrstal glass, the crimson liquid leaping from over the rim as it collided with the ground. The sweet alcohol seeped into the white shag rug beneath Baltra, its blood red mark inching along.

Next came the chess board, its wooden pieces clattering to the floor in a frenzy of noise. Knight, bishops, Kings and pawns alike all mixing together on the ground.

A man who smelled of Cuban cigars and fine aged whiskey strode closer to Baltra, the elder man losing his footing over an upturned chair and falling into the wine stained rug with a _thump_ and a wheeze. The man did not slow his march as he reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a metallic object that glinted in the dimmed light.

Elizabeth watched in horror as her father's featured warped in panic, the gun aimed directly at his head. Baltra tried to scurry backwards, panicked whimpers escalating into screams. The man leaned over the elder, pressing the gun into his temple.

"If you don't have the money by next week," the man said in a near hushed tone, calm and calculated. He jerked the gun upwards, making a low _pop_ sound. The message was received loud and clear.

The hitman rose to his full length, towering in the ransacked room. A candle flittered, its orange light extenuating his sharp features. His cold eyes scanned over the closet where Elizabeth was hidden away, the door slightly ajar. Her breath hitched in her throat and she covered her mouth to keep in her soft sobs.

His eyes did not leave the door as he grinned sadistically. "You have a very beautiful daughter, Baltra. It would be best if you keep today in mind unless you want something to happen to her."

Her father lunged forward, his eyes wild, "Don't you dare bring her into this!"

The man kicked Baltra swiftly in the ribs, sending the older man to a coughing fit on the ground, clutching at his chest. Elizabeth gasped, biting her tongue to hold her screams. Wine soaked into her father's beard and clothes, staining them a sickly red.

Without a word the man left. Elizabeth burst from her hiding spot, running over to her father. Her knees skinned against the fallen chess pieces as she scoped up her father.

Hot tears streamed down her face in wet globs, the salt dripping onto her father's cheek. He tenderly swiped away at her own cheek, pushing away the dampness as he smiled despite his condition. "I won't let anything happen to you my sweet Elizabeth. Not for as long as I live."


	2. Mundane Days and Tasks Help

_Though nobody can go back and make a new beginning... Anyone can start over and make a new ending."_

 _-Chico Xavier_

* * *

"Thank you for waiting!" Elizabeth set down plates of steaming food and alcohol, the sweet and salty aroma's an intoxicating mix in the air. The customer's thanked her as she was dismissed, left to attend to the other patrons.

It was a busy night, a steady stream of customer's flooding into the bar. The low roars of sport's television set a constant ambiance amongst the chatter. A group of businessmen, their cheeks rosy from rounds of beer were laughing heartily. A party of young women, their colourful drinks swirling around in their delicate painted fingers scanned the bar for potential hook ups.

Elizabeth returned to the counter where a tray filled with a mixture of bubbly cocktails and elixirs rested. With a practiced hand she lifted the heavy tray, the liquids threatening to spill from the sudden movement as she scurried off to deliver them.

When she returned to the counter she huffed, her silver bangs falling back into place over her right eye. She combed down her hair with her damp hands, leaning against the cool marble with an exaggerated sigh.

"Busy night, huh?" The bartender, Lance, remarked as he slid her a glass of ice water. She took the cool cup gratefully, gulping down the contents and wincing as the sharp sting of brain freeze ran its course.

Lance was a younger man, still in university. He had platinum blond hair, slightly more on the yellow side than her own snow white tresses. His face was covered in freckles, his cheeks round and his face full despite his otherwise lanky build. He worked at the bar part-time, though Elizabeth often talked to him outside of work. He was a good friend, someone who she always felt she could confide in.

"Busy life." Elizabeth mumbled as she carefully set her glass down, the ice shifting within. A bead of condensation ran down the side, catching her attention as she spoke. "I just haven't been getting much sleep lately."

It was true. Between hospital visits and work (which she had been doing over-time lately), on top of her own business she was swamped.

"Your father?" Lance questioned as he wiped down a mug, lining it up in its cabinet when he finished. "How's he holding up these days?"

Elizabeth pressed her forehead into the cool surface of the counter, easing away the sleep deprived headache that was slowly ebbing on. "Some days are better than others." Her voice was muffled in her arm, though she was sure Lance could make out what she said anyways. He had helped her take the orders of chronic mumbler's before. The kid had super hero hearing.

"That's what I heard about cancer." Lance scrubbed at a particularly stubborn spot on the counter with a damp cloth.

"It's not all bad." Elizabeth rose her face from her arm when she heard the bell above the entrance chime. She left it at that as she ushered the party to a clear table, taking their order and setting back into her work.


	3. Would You Not Do The Same?

___"The strongest people find the courage and caring to help others, even if they are going through their own storm."_ _  
― **Roy T. Bennett**_ _, **The Light in the Heart**_

* * *

Elizabeth hated the hospital. The LED's were far too bright, everything was just too _white_ and clean. The A.C was always cranked up way too high and she fought a chill as she exited an elevator. The chemical smell of iodine and alcohol reminded her of the vet and her rabbit, Hops - and she had no good memories of going to a vet.

Hospitals, like the vet, were where people went to die. She hated saying it, but each day the reality grew. Her father's condition was worsening rapidly, each day threatening to be his last.

Nurses chattered through the halls, colourful insulated lunch bags swinging in their arms. Their shoes scoffed against the floor, the sharp squeaking sound reverberating across the hall. They passed Elizabeth, smiling in acknowledgment of her before they continued down, reaching an elevator and disappearing.

She gripped her large bag tightly, a single, small envelope crinkling under her arm and her key's jingling as they shifted. She swallowed a lump that had formed in the throat as she approached his door, room number E614. Visiting always made her anxious, though she wasn't entirely sure why. He was her father, seeing him shouldn't have her hair's standing on edge or cold dread creeping up her spine.

She knocked on the door, entering without a word. Baltra was sitting up in his bed, his face turned towards the window. Tubes and wires snaked around the bed to a terminal behind him. The room was dark, nothing but whatever meagre light streamed in from the overcast sky illuminating the area.

Elizabeth dropped her bag onto the table, Baltra turned to face her as she sat down on a chair next to the bed.

"Ah, Elizabeth. I wasn't expecting you today." His voice was warm, his face lit up with a familiar smile despite his hallow cheeks and sunken eyes. He seemed paler than when she had seen him last, his hair streaked with white.

"How are you doing, daddy?" She took his hand in hers, his boney fingers cold against her palm.

"I'm doing great, dear!" He beamed, coughing slightly before continuing. "How are you dear? You've been getting enough sleep lately, I hope?"

"Of course daddy. I'm fine, don't worry about me." She forced her own sad smile, reaching into her bag and pulling out the envelope. "I drop what you asked for."

Baltra took the paper in shaky hands, ripping open the flap and pulling out the money from inside. He licked his thumb as he always did, whether it be reading a book, magazine or counting bills he had always done the same.

His face took on a more serious tone as he flipped through the notes slowly, losing count once or twice and starting over again. Once he had flipped through all the bills he gingerly placed the money back in the envelope, sliding it under his pillow.

"Well, I have to get going." Elizabeth stood abruptly, grabbing up her purse a little too eagerly. "It was nice seeing you again."

Elizabeth exited the room, not a word leaving her father's mouth at her departure. She swallowed back her tears, not allowing herself the luxury of crying until she was alone in her car.

This was always how it went. The short exchange, the money, it was _always_ the money. She remembered the hitman from her youth and shuddered, imagining someone similar coming for her father in the dead of night.

She leaned against the drywall, her head falling back and looking up at the fluorescent light fixtures overhead. She wouldn't – _couldn't –_ let it come to that.


	4. We're All The Same In The End

"There are all kinds of addicts, I guess. We all have pain. And we all look for ways to make the pain go away. (107)"  
― Sherman Alexie, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian

* * *

Loud music boomed across the nightclub, the reverberating bass shaking Meliodas down to the bone. The room was lit with various flashing neon colours, the air heavy with the stench of ale, weed and sweat. Bodies collided on the dance floor, a handful of strippers on stage shaking their hips in time with the beat.

Meliodas downed his beer. He hated places like this. He never understood how his brother could tolerate it, much less manage to convince him to come along. A woman wearing barely anything slid in next to him at the bar, her shoulder bumping against his. He shot her a side glance, catching her wink at his acknowledgment of her before bringing his cup back to his lips.

"You here alone?" The woman asked, her breasts were nearly ripping out of her metallic tube top as she signaled the bartender.

He downed another drought of ale, the sweet malt dulling his mind with each successive gulp. "No." He said plainly, setting the large glass stein down on the counter.

"I see." The woman turned to face him as a martini glass was placed in front of her. She swirled the alcohol around, sipping it thoughtfully as she side glanced the dance floor. "Who?"

Meliodas knew what she was fishing for. "My brother." He said plainly, not once looking her in the eyes.

"Wow, so he ditched you, huh?" She dropped her cheek up with her hand, her elbow firmly on the bar counter. Her blue and pink streaked hair fell from its bun, a few stray baby hairs sticking to her neck from the heat. "It's no fun to go the night alone. I can give you company."

"What kind of company?" Meliodas feigned interest. It was always the same thing, club after club, whore after whore.

Though, he supposed they weren't all that different at the end of the day, himself and the hookers. They both struggled towards a seemingly unreachable goal. Perhaps they both stumbled into their paths as a seemingly easy way out, perhaps this was their only path. The only difference between them was the methods, one choose to sell their body while the other choose to sell their soul.

Estarossa pushed his way through bodies as he approached the bar. He knew it was where he could always find his brother, Meliodas never straying from the watering hole. "Yo!"

Meliodas didn't move, though the woman observed Estarossa from over the edge of her glass. She must have thought she hit the jackpot, two potential lays in one night – possibly even thought the brothers handsome, better than most other johns.

"You ready to go yet?" Meliodas asked, his voice drowned out by the music, though he was sure his brother knew the question whether he heard him or not.

"Yeah, I've had my fill. No one worth it tonight." He threw his arm around Meliodas' neck, his breath reeked of marijuana and cheap beer. "Let's get the fuck outta here."


	5. Do You Have A Guilty Pleasure?

"Unbeing dead isn't being alive."  
― **E.E. Cummings**

* * *

There were some days he wouldn't come home until the sun had long departed, the moon high in the sky. Others, he wouldn't come home at all – sometimes for days at a time.

He would kick open the door to his one bedroom, old paint chips falling to the floor. Moonlight would stream through the open curtains, the fruity scent of women's shampoo and home cooking would linger in the air. She would always be there waiting for him with open arms. Be it hours, days or weeks, she was always there. Liz, the only thing good in his life.

She would run her fingers through his matted hair, combing out the tangles and shaking out debris. Her embrace would be warm, inviting, despite the cruel words they both know she didn't real mean that escaped her mouth.

They both knew there was a chance he wouldn't come home at all. Arrested, killed, stabbed in the back. It was a risky business, Liz knew that. She was grateful he could come home to her at all.

Her anger would be quickly forgotten with him in her arms, the anxiety of losing him mixed with the elation of seeing him one more day feeding into her passion. They would make love until they both couldn't move anymore, sweat dripping from their naked bodies as they panted heavily in the moonlight.

When she was asleep he would gently trace the outline of her features, the curve of her jaw, the rise and fall of her chest. Her lips always parted in a small "o" as she slept. She was such a headstrong woman, the type of person who didn't take crap from anyone, and yet in those moments she looked as vulnerable as anyone else. He would ghost a kiss over her cheek before he allowed sleep to overtake him, the nightmares kept at bay for at least those nights spent with her.

It was like clockwork, a routine he had come to look forward to. The woman soundly asleep in the crook of his arm, one leg tossed around his midsection was one of the few joys he had left in this life.

Meliodas had all the money in the world, men could die at his word, yet this woman had him at her mercy. He hated lying to her, leading her to believe he wasn't the monster he truly was. Perhaps he just felt like if he could convince her he was in some way convincing himself.

He had never asked to be runner-up to his father's business, he would easily give the title up to Estarossa or even Zeldris if given the opportunity. But his father was a cruel man, one who did not hesitate to harm even his own children if they did not fall into the perfect box he had designed for them.

So, Meliodas would simply grit his teeth and do as he was told, only allowing respite on those passion filled nights with Liz.


	6. I'm Fine Is Such An Arbitrary Thing

"A woman has to live her life, or live to repent not having lived it."  
― **D.H. Lawrence** , **Lady Chatterley's Lover**

* * *

Night's seemed longer these days. Elizabeth would spend them tossing and turning, the images of a man clouded in black cigar smoke hovering over her, a pool of red liquid beneath her feet as she struggled to run away. He would always catch her, her legs never quiet fast enough. He would tower over her, his sick grin causing bile to rise up in her throat, a silent scream that could never make it passed her lips.

She would wake up panting, drenched in cold sweat. Her day would be no better. She would look over her shoulder for an invisible man who wasn't there, each sound making her jump. Her mind far away from the real world.

"Hey," Lance sounded concerned, "Did something happen, you seem… off today."

Something _did_ happen. Her father had called her a day after she dropped off the money. The debt collectors had come and they were demanding more money to cover his interest. She was barely making enough to support herself and him as it was – but now…

Elizabeth blinked away her thoughts, jerking herself back to reality. "Yeah, I'm fine."

It was a slow day, which was both a blessing and a curse. She wasn't sure if she could be trusted with fragile objects today, though at the same time the rush would have cleared her mind, and given her some extra tip money as a bonus.

Lance put down the plate he had been drying, the boy always seemed to be doing dishes. "No, you're not. I can tell." His tone was no-nonsense, "you can tell me."

Of all the Elizabeth could tolerate right now, thinly masked pity disguised as pity was on the bottom of the list. She wanted to scream, to kick and shout out her frustrations, though she knew Lance didn't deserve her anger. Instead, she forced a smile she prayed was convincing enough to at least get him to back down. "I'm fine, honest."

Lance opened his mouth like he was ready to protest, but Elizabeth was gone before he could get a word out. She had purposefully avoided him the rest of her shift, leaving without saving a goodbye. She knew it didn't help her case, but this was more than the boy could offer to help console her.

She was alone in this. Alone in the absoluteness of her plight, of her destiny if she dared to call it that. She could take it by the horns and fight it, or succumb to the bottomless despair and forfeit the match before it began.

She chose to fight.


	7. Bravery In The Face Of Fear

_"You can tell a lot from a person's nails. When a life starts to unravel, they're among the first to go."_ _  
―_ ** _Ian McEwan_** _,_ ** _Saturday_**

* * *

Elizabeth stood outside a dingy building, her pastel pink umbrella thrumming from fat globs of rain. Burnt out cigarette butts littered the floor, old spat out gum painted the cracked sidewalk a rainbow of colours.

Her heart was beating loud in her ears and she wondered for a moment how suspicious she must have looked to passers-by. The building's grey bricks crumbled from age, a few windows were cracked and boarded up. A neon pink sign buzzed overhead, the "A" in "Delicious Angels" flickering on and off sporadically, a depiction of a topless woman, her nipples perked was waving slowly to the streets below in flashing neon tubing.

She used to avert her eyes driving passed places like these when she was a child, silently judging those who may have worked within. Never in a hundred years would she have imaged herself standing outside its doors, one breath away from entering. The sound of her father's panicked voice rang through her memory, an echoing dread that shook her to the core.

They had asked for even more money. Her boss refused to give her more overtime, she could only bring in so much in tips. She couldn't even find another job that paid enough in time. This was all that was left.

She was wearing a push-up bra she knew she didn't really need, but had purchased in hopes it would ring in more tips from male patrons at the bar, a tube top that restricted her breathing and a skirt that hadn't fit her in years all hidden under an oversized raincoat. She had figured the outfit was appropriate for _this_ job application, though in truth, she had no idea what to expect.

She still had time to turn back, to go home and crash in her bed, rip off her false lashes and just forget any of this even happened. Every voice inside her screamed to do just that, yet, her legs pushed her forward.

Dimmed light's and fading purple walls, along with the distinctive scent of tequila and pine scented cleaner greeted Elizabeth once inside. A central stage, three poles shining stood in the center. Booths furbished with torn leather lined the walls, a few orphan tables – their chairs stacked over top of them - led up to the stage. A single woman wearing a skin tight pleather outfit, fishnet stockings and sneakers was wiping down a booth, her lilac hair spilling from its up-do.

Elizabeth chocked, her stomach flipping wildly in a panic. What was she _doing._ She shouldn't be here, this was out of her realm, it wasn't _her_.

"Hey," the voice made Elizabeth jump, her heart beating high up in her throat. "Can I help you?"

She craned her neck mechanically towards the girl, one cloth in her hand as she walked over towards her, hips swaying with each step. "I-I…" Elizabeth swallowed hard. _Just get the words out, damn it!_

"Looking for work?" The girl asked, cocking an eyebrow. She had seen enough young women like Elizabeth, the signs were obvious.

Elizabeth nodded. "Thought so." The girl brushed her lilac bangs from her face, coaxing Elizabeth to follow her as she turned towards a back door.

There was no going back now.


	8. The Darkness Can Be Comforting

"You start with a darkness to move through  
but sometimes the darkness moves through you."  
― **Dean Young**

* * *

Moonlight streamed in through dusty window panes, the scent of gunpowder, blood and dust swirled together in the air. He could he lingering metallic incense on his tongue, the tang of smoke and various drugs drying his throat. It was a sensation he was all too familiar with, the gravity of the deeds he had just committed nothing more than a job.

He stepped over a body, his heel coming down on an extended hand. Blood seeped from the limp flesh under his foot, the sickly feeling of dead meat sending a jolt of disgust deep in his throat. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes needing desperately to take the edge off.

He took a deep drag, sweet tobacco filling his lungs, the smoke dancing around him. He wanted something harder, something what would get him so far gone he wouldn't come back until –hopefully- the next 24 hours. But he had to keep his wits about him for the time being, at least until they got out and were in the clear.

"You know that shit will kill you." Zeldris chastised as he exited the office to the warehouse, turning up his nose at his brother's bad habits.

"Like I give a damn," Meliodas replied dryly, "You do worse shit."

Zeldris kicked at a body, the man's face frozen in a state of horror. "It never ceases to amaze me how ruthless you are, brother."

"Cut the bullshit. Did you find it?"

Zeldris held up a clear bag, a powdery white substance shaking inside. On cue, henchmen exited behind him, their hands full of plastic-wrapped bricks of drugs and suitcases undoubtedly full of money. It was a good heist, their channels secured and competition wiped out in one night, their father would be pleased.

Meliodas took another long drag of his cigarette, eyeing his watch as he made his own exit, Zeldris close behind him. He wanted to get out of that damned warehouse, the smell and the sight of dead bodies making him sick.

"What's wrong," Zeldris prodded, "You seem gloomier than usual."

He waved his brother off, stepping into the driver's side of his car, his smoke extinguished and stomped out on the pavement below. He grimaced at the traces of blood that stained the ground, mentally noting to call the cleaners in later.

He slammed the car door shut, Zeldris unflinching at his cold reception and drove off into the night.


	9. Stupid Memories

_"I do not miss childhood, but I miss the way I took pleasure in small things, even as greater things crumbled. I could not control the world I was in, could not walk away from things or people or moments that hurt, but I took joy in the things that made me happy."_ _  
― **Neil Gaiman**_ _, **The Ocean at the End of the Lane**_

* * *

To say Elizabeth was anxious was an understatement. She was down-right terrified, overwrought with fear. She had bitten her nails down to the bed, her digits sore and bloodied as she typed away at her laptop. Her search history had been filled with questionable searches; how to be seductive, how to pole dance, the ins and outs of stripping, _"Your new stripper career and you!"_

Her head was spinning, her temples throbbing from a migraine that didn't seem to want to go away. Her feet ached from angry blisters and swollen soles – consequences of practicing walking in stiletto heels for hours on end.

She eyed the offending foot ware from her peripherals, dreading having to put them on again; even with her latest amazon purchase of stiletto insoles that promised to make her feel like she was "walking on a cloud".

Amateur night was less than two nights away – in two nights she could make or break it. Her future with "Delicious Angels" hinged on her performance. If was a popular, she was in; if she flopped… she preferred not to think about it.

Elizabeth's phone buzzed, harsh blue light illuminating the room from the incoming message, her father, his smiling face beaming in his chat icon at the top of her screen. She shut off the screen, setting it on silent and turning the screen face down. It was late enough that he would just assume she had gone to sleep anyways, with a stroke of luck he would just leave her alone for the moment.

That's all she needed, was to be alone, to mull over her melancholy and strengthen her resolve.

Elizabeth set her laptop on the mattress, falling backwards and bouncing against the cushions. The blue light illuminated her ceiling, its jutted points looking like tiny stalactites, their peaks emphasized by the light.

She had always thought they looked like popcorn. A memory of her youth flashed across her memory. They had just moved into a smaller house – she hadn't known the reason then, much too young to understand debts or money troubles, much less gambling problems. She had put up such a fuss, not wanting to leave the only place she had known as _home_ until then.

On their first night in the new house, it's unfamiliar smells and freshly painted walls - their furniture still taped up in boxes – her father and her had lied on the shag carpet, pointing out faces in the ceiling popcorn as if they were clouds.

The laptop switched to its screensaver, multi-coloured bubbles bouncing around on a black screen. She closed the device, setting it aside on her night table. Before rolling back over, she popped a bottle of Tylenol and swallowed two pills. She needed to rest and couldn't afford being awoken at any witching hour from her aching feet.

Her phone buzzed again as she pulled her covers over her head, though she ignored it and fell into a fitful sleep.


	10. Sometimes You Fly

"Sometimes you wake up. Sometimes the fall kills you. And sometimes, when you fall, you fly."  
― **Neil Gaiman** , **Fables & Reflections**

* * *

She felt _ridiculous._

Her skirt was riding up her legs, her heels were pinching into her toes, the air conditioning was on just a _little_ too high; goosebumps peppering every inch of exposed skin and sending a shiver down her spine.

She felt out of place, a lump of coal amongst diamonds. The other girls, their steps calculated and perfect, not once faltering in their stilettos – the way their hair swayed with each step like waves crashing against the shore was mesmerizing.

She was waiting backstage, an array of perfectly painted girls, their cat eyes flawless and their false lashes kissing immaculate rosy cheeks. Jericho – the lilac haired girl from her first venture into the club – was ushering girls onto stage, introducing them to the roars of the crowd.

Elizabeth could feel the beginnings of a migraine coming on, be it from stress, the insistent thump of the beat or the blinding circle light on her vanity mirror; it was the _last_ thing she needed right now.

"Elizabeth!" Jericho called out, her voice sending a fresh jolt of panic through her veins.

"Y-yes!" She croaks, wincing at how her own voice grated against her ears. _This was it._ This was how she would get her foot in the door – her last resort.

If she could just do this… this _one_ simple thing, she could earn enough money to pay off her father's debts, pay for some of the best healthcare available. Images of peaceful dinners with her father flooded her mind, watching late night comedy on the sofa – _normalcy._

Courage renewed, she squared her shoulders, stumbling over to the stage where Jericho stood waiting.

The bright stage lights blotted out the crowds, the music pounded in her ears and made her heart jump with each note. Anxiety all but forgotten, she simply let loose as if it were only her, the music, and the stage. She danced as if she were alone in her room, throwing her arms and hips in tune with the music.

She could hear the cheers of men (and a few women) from below, could feel her sweat glisten down her skin and her hair fall from its careful bun a top her head – but she didn't c _are_.

In that moment, she was free. All of the weight she had borne for _so long_ rolled off her shoulders.

The music halted, the roar of cheers and shouting echoing across the building. Elizabeth stared out into the nothingness, blinking out her tears and panting heavily before being ushered off of stage.

At the end of the night, after the votes came in Elizabeth would learn she had placed second – pocketing $600 and earning a spot on the clubs roster.


	11. Shut up, Conscious

"If there's a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it."

― **Toni Morrison**

All the greatest motivational speakers, most billionaires. hell, even some of the best novels all seem to start with "They quit their job."

Elizabeth wondered why that was. Sure, she understood the logistics of it. You can never move forward if you don't take the first steps - that one risk that can define the rest of your tale.

She figured her story would never be one that would see itself fleshed out in some epic biography. A bartender-turned-stripper; her tale was a dime a dozen, a story that took place every day on every continent on Earth.

Perhaps, if she started her own empire, she would tell herself. If she took the head of some president or CEO - anyone conventionally 'important' - and stood over their desk in nothing but fishnet stockings and stiletto platforms, holding a banner that read "The future is female!"; maybe then she would be recognized beyond a glorified dancer.

But, life was never so kind (nor was she particularly brave enough to attempt some magnificent stunt.)

She found her days occupied in sleep, at the bar or at the club. Despite her night shifts at Delicious Angels - and the much nicer paycheque - she couldn't find it in herself to quit the small, independently owned bar. She told herself it was to keep face. After all, the walls seemed to talk, and the last thing she wanted was for her dirty secret to make it's rounds into the wrong corners.

The club wasn't much different from her day job regardless; so long as you didn't count the ankle-twisting shoes, corsets, mini skirts and glitter as different. She didn't know what to expect as a stripper, but it certainly wasn't waitressing and sharing drinks amongst lonely businessmen and horny birthday boys just barely legal enough to enter at all.

She had built up a reputation, her "regulars" as she liked to call them (though Jericho insisted the professional term was "John's") were nice men, some recently divorced, others hiding wedding bands in their coat pockets - all lonely, rich men with nowhere better to go.

Her nights sat between cheery men, her mind hazed over with alcohol and expensive colognes were a sharp contrast to her days of spaghetti stains and cheap ales.

Her father never questioned where the extra money had come from. Perhaps he knew, perhaps he simply didn't want to bring it up. Elizabeth was grateful for the reprieve regardless, thankful to have calm moments with her father, time she had missed over the last few years.

Yes, she would never see her name printed in some grandeur tale, but the small moments of happiness made every tear shed, every sleepless night left tossing and turning worth it. For once her life was looking up - Though, a deep sense of foreboding still loomed over her shoulder like a cold, sickly stalker.

She simply pressed those feelings down into the recesses of her mind. In the future, she would look back and see that sometimes it was better to trust that instinct.


	12. What I live For

"I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be."

― Douglas Adams, The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul

* * *

Sweet smells of home cooking greeted Meliodas the moment he entered their apartment. Savory meats, oregano and roasting vegetables all coming together to form a rich scent that had his eyes fluttering closed in bliss.

Kicking off his shoes, his suit jacket discarded on a coat rack, he snuck into the kitchen where Liz was standing over the stove, stirring a pot of simmering rice. She hadn't noticed him yet, her attention fully invested on the task before her, only stopping to occasionally turn on her phone and check any new messages. Perfect.

He crept up behind her, careful to side-step that one floorboard that always creaked at even the slightest pressure. His fingers flexing, his body ready to go in for the kill, he finally neared close enough behind Liz to set his plan into action.

"I'm home!" He shouted, grabbing Liz by the waist and tickling her ribs. She squealed, kicking and elbowing in a futile attempt to escape his grasp. Giggles bubbled from her sweet lips and Meliodas wondered what he had done to deserve such a perfect woman.

"M-Mel…!" She gasped between fits of laughter, her face turning red from the torture. "Please! The rice!"

Reluctantly, he let her go, opting for instead wrapping around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder, watching her movements as she worked. She stirred the rice, cursing when a few grains stuck to the bottom before opening the oven and checking on the roast inside. "It's just about done." She chimed triumphantly. "I wasn't expecting you home so soon."

"Is that a bad thing?" Meliodas asked, peppering the back of her neck and her shoulders with soft kisses.

"Not at all." She beamed as she spun around in his grasp, flicking his forehead and kissing the ensuing red spot away soon after. "It's just nice to sit and eat with my idiot boyfriend from time to time. You should come home early more often."

"Liz…" He broke away from her grip, taking the wooden spoon and giving the rice another stir. "You know work has be caught up more often than not." And that was true, though, he wasn't exactly sure she really knew what the full details of work was. She was smart, no doubt she had some idea, but if she did she simply never said.

Perhaps it was better that way, to just leave their space together as a retreat from that life, from the drugs and whores, blood and money. He had always made it a point to drive his beat up motorcycle to the apartment instead of his luxury vehicles, leaving rolex watches and golden chains at the manor along with gucci shirts and versace robes.

"I know…" Liz trailed off, wrapping her own arms around his shoulders now, mimicking the position from moments ago, "It would just be nice to spend more time with you. I know the place is small, but it can get lonely sometimes without someone to share it with."

He leaned back into her chest, reveling in the warmth that radiated off of her. She was so alive, her heart beating strong against his back. "I know." He said sympathetically, because he did know and he hated how he knew he was making her feel - and all because of his fucking bastard of a father. "I promise, I'm working on it. Soon I'll be able to stay here full time and eat all of your cooking that I can stomach."

The oven buzzed at the same time as Meliodas' phone, signalling both that food was indeed ready and that his life couldn't find reprieve, even here. He glanced at the screen, seeing Zeldris' name appear under his notifications before stuffing the device back into his pants pocket. Liz pulled out the tray containing beef and various root vegetables with a grin. She really was a much better cook than he could ever hope to be, her dishes could easily be featured in magazines - yet she was too humble to ever take such an offer.

"Well?" She asked over her shoulder, carving through the roast as Meliodas set out two plates and cutlery. "Shall we dig in?"

"Let's shall."


	13. Fated Meeting

"In meetings philosophy might work,

on the field practicality works."

― **Amit Kalantri**

* * *

Walking in heels had somehow become second nature to Elizabeth by now, her feet aching lessa and less each progressing night. Her bathroom cabinets had slowly begun to fill with wide arrays of make ups, her points card at Sephora quickly racking up (some employees even knew her by name, now.)

She had earned a substantial amount of money over her short time at the club. During such time she had been able to move her father back home (under the supervision of a full time nurse), paid off a decent sum of his debts and even have some money left over for a few luxury items. She was adapting well to this new world, fitting into her new forbidden night world just as easily as she did the day - her calloused feet a testament to just that.

It was a Friday evening, the busiest night of the week. A regular John had requested her early, so Elizabeth had taken a half-shift at the bar. Lance, always observant, had commented on her recent new 'look', or how she seemed to be coming in later each week; but she simply brushed it off explaining her father had been discharged from the wasn't exactly a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth, either; regardless, it was enough to stay the questions for another few days.

Delicious Angel's looked vastly different during the day than it did at night, devoid of it's hot pink neon lights and bouncers. Inside Jericho was buffing away at some tables, Guila doing a stock check to ensure they were ready for the rush. Elizabeth said her greetings before promptly rushing backstage to prep herself.

By the time her John had arrived the Club was already beginning to fill, loud, thumping music drowning out the sounds of conversation, several patrons shouting directly into their companies ears to be heard.

She ushered her John, a mid-thirties businessman (she couldn't tell you which business exactly, he had never expressly told her) who's name was ironically also John. She was to entertain a party that night, the other's of which would arrive some time later. Some big shots from some other unknown company running some unknown business. The tips were always nicer with these groups, though their conversation was so dull it could lull a nun to sleep.

The light's dimmed as dancers took to the stage, hypnotic trance music filling the air as three other men came to join their table. Elizabeth was acquainted with one of them, John's business partner, though she had never seen the other two before.

"Ahh, It's glad to finally make your acquaintances my fine Sirs!" John rose to greet the two, a rather tall man in a long tail coat and a shorter male in a pinstripe. "I trust your week has gone well?"

The taller man said something along the typical "business as usual" before John finally motioned towards Elizabeth. "Elizabeth here is one of the finest companions the city has to offer, I hope you don't mind if she joins us today?"

The taller man nodded his approval and Elizabeth took that as her cue to say her own introductions. "Hello, I'm Elizabeth Liones, pleased to meet you."

"Likewise." The taller man returned the pleasantries, "I'm Estarossa, the brooding one over there is my older brother, Meliodas."

* * *

 **AN: So this may have felt like forever for them to meet, but when you take into account a standard chapter (for me at least) is about 6000 words... this is basically chapter 2 of a traditional story. Thanks for waiting this long for the main pairing to actually meet! I've had a few people ask me how I plan to work them around with Liz, and to them I say "wait and see."**

 **Just something I felt needed to be put out there! I can't tag it as "slow burn" on FF but this is a slow burn fic!**


	14. Doppleganger

"Sometimes life has a cruel sense of humor, giving you the thing you always wanted at the worst time possible."

― Lisa Kleypas, Sugar Daddy

* * *

For all of his downfalls, Meliodas had always felt he could at least pride himself in being a decent elder brother. So when Estarossa had asked him to accompany him on negotiations, how could he say no?

He should have known that any "business" Estarossa wanted to be involved with would include a whorehouse.

They had arrived just as the sun had begun to set, the orange sky nearly blotting out the fluorescent hot-pink neon of the clubs sign. Of all the clubs he could have chosen, it had to be one of the most run-down, stereotypical ones.

But that was Estarossa for you.

Thankfully, the cover of this book was not defining of the inside. Sure, the place had seen better days, but he had also seen worse. (A particular bar in the inner city came to mind, a dreadful place that served expired alcohol and even worse company. He had been hit on by a number of men that night, and although flattering, he wasn't particularly attracted to 80 year old men.)

Once he had some hard liquor in him the night would go by quickly, just as it always did. The moment Meliodas spotted a waitress he flagged her down and requested a scotch. She nodded, regarding Estarossa and leading them towards a booth before sashaying away.

Estarossa rounded the bend, throwing his arms out in a show of good faith as a man Meliodas was not too unfamiliar with stood up. The two exchanged pleasantries, a handshake here, an embrace there before someone else joined them.

At first, all he could see was her silver hair, pinned up like a shimmery globe of snow atop her head. Like all other workers of the club, she wore an outfit that left nothing to the imagination, her bust and hips nearly spilling over from the tight fabric. He figured she must have been doing well for herself in her… chosen line of work, no doubt dozens of lonely men, pockets as deep as their desires lining up to spend an evening with her.

She turned when the man Meliodas knew as John addressed her. His heart stopped. She was a perfect copy of Liz. From the blue eyes to the way her bangs fringed over the right side of her face. The curve of her nose, her eyelashes, the small dimples that appeared when she smiled.

He tried to stare, failing miserably as she was the only thing he could manage to pay attention to all night. He could hardly even pay attention to the discussions, his attention solely on her. Liz had never mentioned a sister - but then again, he had never bothered to ask. The resemblance was uncanny, even their names reminiscent of parents who were too unoriginal to think of two seperate names. It was possible she had a twin, a sister she was too ashamed to mention. After all, she did work in a strip club. Perhaps she was disowned?

Estarossa patted him on the back hard, jolting him back into reality. "Isn't that right, Mel?"

He had no interest in whatever he was asked, simply nodding his head in the affirmative and downing the last of his drink as Estarossa shook John's hand one final time.

He stood from his seat abruptly, Meliodas following suit and made his way towards the exit, leaving a more than generous tip for the lady who had accompanied them. He would ask Liz about it later.

They left into the night, Estarossa bragging about the deal he had just scored as Meliodas nodded like a disinterested spouse the whole while.


	15. Who Makes Those Stupid Ties?

"I've been fighting to be who I am all my life. What's the point of being who I am, if I can't have the person who was worth all the fighting for?"

― Stephanie Lennox, I Don't Remember You

* * *

There was something wrong with him. Seriously wrong with him.

The entire drive home he had been distracted, his mind torn between the road and her. Why was she having such a profound effect over him? She was just a girl - a girl who looked an awful lot like Liz, but still a mundane person nonetheless.

He had told Liz he wouldn't be back home for another few days, potentially a week. So when he parked his 2006 Honda civic outside her apartment and rushed up the steps, he hadn't exactly thought of a reason to explain away his sudden appearance.

He figured he had to ask in person regardless; he couldn't just shoot her a text saying he met a girl who looked like her twin… if they were related (and with that resemblance, they had to be), and she knew of her profession it would no doubt end in a fight. He liked his nose unbroken and straight, personally, and he shuttered at the idea of Liz's wrath descending on him like a thousand arrows if she were to find out he had spent a night (or numerous) in brothels and strip clubs.

He fumbled with his keys, the small silver object not wanting to fit into the old lock. He cursed the locksmith who decided to make such a small bolt as he finally heard the familiar clack of the door unlocking. He flew inside, hastily kicking off his shoes. Liz was unsurprisingly in the living room, her bare feet kicked up on the coffee table and a bowl of chips balanced on her lap. Spanish singing of a tele-novella opening theme played loudly through the speakers. I didn't know she liked to watch The Latin Channel...

He shook his head violently; that wasn't important right now. Liz had already bolted upright, her bowl placed precariously close to the edge of the table. "Meliodas?" She said, eyes wide in surprise, "what are you doing here?"

He rushed over towards her, sweeping her up in a tight embrace, breathing in the familiar scent of Liz and sour cream and onion chips.

Why did he feel so off balanced. She was just a girl… no matter what she looked like, no matter her relation with Liz. He hadn't overstepped his boundaries, he hadn't cheated, he had simply had a conversation with her… so why did he feel like he did betray her? Why couldn't he get her out of his damn head?!

He stared into Liz's blue eyes, the curve of her lashes, the way her cheeks dusted in a soft blush from his affections. For a second he imagined her with silvery hair as opposed to her fiery tones; stop thinking about her dammit!

He kissed her fiercely, tasting the remnants of onion dust on her lips, but he didn't care. He kissed her with the fervor of a man who had been to sea for months or a couple at the airport; the overwhelming emotions of being away from your lover for so long driving them into each other's arms. In some odd way he felt it would make up for his sins (not that he had any, he reminded himself firmly).

"Not that I'm complaining -" Liz broke the kiss suddenly -"but what are you doing here?"

He blinked once, twice - an attempt to stall for time. "I, uh… I needed a tie. I think I left it here."

"A… tie?" Liz cocked an eyebrow. He hadn't planned this out at all; and in the end, he left with a tacky tie depicting the solar system as cats and no answers.


	16. Premonition

**Let us follow our destiny, ebb and flow. Whatever may happen, we master fortune by accepting it.**

 **-** Virgil

* * *

She was drowning.

The sky above her rippled in an endless expanse of dancing light. It was dizzying, disorentating; endlessly beautiful despite the circumstances. She struggled to hold her breath, kicking fruitlessly against the undertow. Each second that passed she was dragged deeper and deeper below, until even the light above was swallowed by the sea.

Her lungs craves oxygen, her eyes burning from the salt water. She continued falling into the abyss; and she found herself accepting that this was it. She gave in to the urge to gasp for breath, her lungs filling with sea water…

Only, she could still breathe just fine. Despite the water that filled her lungs, the burning sensation of suffocation slowly ebbed away. Finally, her feet touched solid ground and the world around her was thrust into a blinding light.

She was at Delicious Angels, it's neon lasers and heart-thumping loud bass overwhelming her senses. She was on stage, the dimmed lights making it possible to see into the room. Only, it was empty.

Something tapped her shoulder and she spun around. Guila, her hair let down to cascade beautifully like a black waterfall around her small shoulders was smiling at her. Elizabeth asked where everyone ways, but guild's only response was to point out towards the v.i.p booths to their left.

"he's waiting for you." She said low, barely audible over the loud music. She meant to ask who was waiting for her, but when she turned back to face the other woman, she was gone. Vanished to the wind.

Elizabeth's heels clicked against the hardwood, years of wear leaving lightened scuff marks in the oak. She reached the booth, gingerly peering around to see who it was that was looking for her.

He sat slumped over the table, a single glass of whiskey in his left hand, his head propped up in the other. His pinstripe suit clashed against the velvet of the seat and the purple of the table, his mess of blond hair reflecting the neon beautifully. He wasn't facing her, and when she tried to announce her presence, she choked. The words stayed lodged in her throat no matter how hard she tried to get them out.

It was agony, the sensation of drowning returning all at once until she was once again, swimming in salted water trying to breach the surface -

 **BANG!**

Elizabeth woke with a start. Instinctively She reached for her neck, testing out her voice. The slight hum resonated with little difficulty, and she could breathe freely.

Morning light painted her apartment in a light blue haze, her curtains swaying in the breeze from her air conditioning unit softly. If it weren't for exactly that, the curtains would have stayed put and concealed the splatter of blood and feathers that stuck against the glass panes of her window.

She rushed to the balcony, bare feet stinging on cold concrete. A canary lay below her bedroom window, it's neck twisted at an odd angle, a pool of blood trailing from an eye that had popped out of its socket. She cringed, cursing audibly as she rushed back inside to grab a garbage bag and broom.

Whatever that canary had been doing out in the streets of London would remain a mystery, but perhaps Elizabeth should have heeded the signs.


	17. Unlikely Sources

"And then I felt sad because I realized that once people are broken in certain ways, they can't ever be fixed, and this is something nobody ever tells you when you are young and it never fails to surprise you as you grow older as you see the people in your life break one by one. You wonder when your turn is going to be, or if it's already happened."

― **Douglas Coupland,** **Life After God**

* * *

The apartment her father had been moved into was a city block away from the hospital. A small, two bedroom flat that functioned both under government assistance personal rent. A halfway home for both families whose loved ones were under long-term stay and those in palliative care with no where else to go. She would have had him move in with her, were it not for her two jobs and lack of space for his motor bed and other personal equipment; not to mention no where to put the live in palliative nurse.

His spirits had raised significantly with his new surroundings. He had lost his own house long ago to debt collectors, and she was only just barely able to cover the hospital stay before now. Even with the added income of the club, between her own living expenses and his, she was barely breaking even these days. But bleach white walls and the stench of iodine simply did not make a home, and the ever looming presence of death and gloom hung to the air no matter where you went. Even if she had to work until she dropped, she would fight to keep him in his new situation.

The last she had heard, the cancer had spread further throughout his liver, lymph nodes and abdomen, slowly but surely working it's way up towards his lungs, heart and brain. It was easy to forget he was dying, however. He had taken to some of his old hobbies again. Gardening, chess, wine sampling. He had even found an injured pigeon and nursed it back to health. The bird had taken kindly to him, becoming a permanent resident.

Elizabeth stood over the double-burner stove-top, the nurse, a kind young woman fresh out of college named Jelamet chopping vegetables to her left. The pigeon (who was recently named Wandle) was let out of the cage and had perched itself atop the cupboards, watching eagerly for any offerings of zucchini.

It was a rare day for Elizabeth. A day she had off of both jobs and one in which her father was feeling well enough for visitors. Baltra was currently seated in his electric wheelchair, a wool knit hat placed lopsidedly over his bald head, a fleece throw blanket on his lap as he looked out the window.

Wandle hopped down from the cupboard, hopping along the counter ever closer to Jelamet's cutting board. She shooed the bird away by waving the knife, the bird hastily retreating back to sit on Baltra's hat. He nestled in, hiding his face in the crook of his wing and cooing softly.

"If you had told me a few months ago my father would be living like this, I would have laughed in your face." Elizabeth hummed as she stirred the simmering stew. Jelamet regarded her with warm eyes before glancing over towards her patient. He was so calm, so at peace, so deceptively normal.

"I never had many moments like this, you know? Well, that's not entirely true. I did, a very long time ago." She stopped stirring the pot, watching the liquid bubble. "We used to be so close, probably until I was old enough to understand what was going on. I understand now that he's not perfect, and maybe his decisions have been worse than most other peoples, but now… But now, thinking back, there were so many years of bitterness and anger growing up."

Jelamet set her knife down on the counter, wiping her hands in a tea towel as she came to stand by Elizabeth's side."What's important is you have them now." Jelamet patted Elizabeth on the shoulder gently, "It's never too late to repair a damaged relationship. The last thing you want is regrets."

Wandle raised his head and cooed as if in agreement, flapping a single wing before settling back down. The pot began to boil over, sizzling noises and sickly smoke of burning broth startling both girls.

Jelamets words would carry over for a long time to come, a constant reminder long into the future.


	18. Leave me Alone

**_a/n: Lance has been changed to Arthur. Sorry for any confusion!_**

* * *

 ** _"I've never fooled anyone. I've let people fool themselves. They didn't bother to find out who and what I was. Instead they would invent a character for me. I wouldn't argue with them. They were obviously loving somebody I wasn't."_**

 ** _―_** ** _Marilyn Monroe_**

* * *

It had been half a year since Elizabeth had begun working at Delicious Angels, a week since her run in with the odd john's who had met with John. She was growing to surprise even herself, developing a repertoire for herself, expertly balancing home with the bar and the club. Her skills were even finding themselves to be transferable, different techniques she learned with the club allowing for her to garner more tips at the bar.

Arthur was behind the counter, wiping a few freshly cleaned dishes dry as Elizabeth smooched over a couple of business men. The bar was more or less empty today, Tuesday nights always being the worst for business and by proxy, tips. So she knew she had to play up her skills if she were to make her budget for the week.

Her phone lay heavy in her pocket, and although the device was on silent, she felt as if it were buzzing with a flurry of messages every few had all been going so well… so undeniably well until she received that text message a few weeks prior.

Her father had begun to use the money she was giving him to gamble once more. His debts, which were nearly paid off, had nearly tripled from even more than its highest point before. He said he had bet with the wrong crowd, and simply underestimated them.

She said he was an old fool and not worth the effort.

She regretted her words now, her guilt driving her to work even harder at both jobs - no matter how bleak the reality of the situation was.

Elizabeth finished up with her entourage, pocketing a nice tip as she gathered up their emptied steins and plates. Arthur regarded her as she plopped the dishware down in the waiter station, ready to be washed for later.

He was cunning, almost too smart for his own good. His texts had also been keeping her up at night. Little reminders in the small hours of the night asking if she were coming in that morning, or simply to remind her to drink water and get some rest. It was endearing, sure, but she was an adult. She was perfectly capable of caring for herself without her co-worker imposing on her life.

"Hey." Arthur hummed, voice laced in concern. His gaze was downcast, his hands stilling on the glass he was drying. Seriously, what was with bartenders and always drying cups?

"Hey." Elizabeth replied, hoping beyond all hopes that the annoyance didn't show in her body language. She knew what was coming, and she did _not_ want to discuss this with a child who was barely 21 years old. What did he hope to understand about her life, anyways?

"You sleeping okay?" Arthur leaned forward, placing his cup on the shelf and balancing his weight on his forearms. "You seem.. I don't know, off today."

"Listen, Arthur. It's really sweet that you're concerned with me and all, but this is not the time, alright?" Elizabeth snapped, though she didn't mean to. She flushed, sighing deeply and rubbing away at a growing headache. She had been snappy more and more lately. Arthur was just worried, she shouldn't fault him for that… and yet…

"Look, I'm sorry. I really am. But please, just leave me alone right now."

Arthur swallowed hard. Her words, her _tone_ were anything but kind. The kid wore his heart on his sleeve, and as much as Elizabeth didn't want to hurt him, she couldn't stop her attitude from bubbling over.

"Oh, well, uh… okay, I guess." Arthur sounded as if he were holding back tears, his voice cracking every other vowel. "But you know I'm here if you need anything, right?"

"And what do you think you can help me with?" The words spilled out before she had a chance to filter them. "My shift is over. I'll see you tomorrow. And don't text me tonight."

Arthur didn't respond, simply returning to wiping down dirty dishes in silence. She just needed to be left alone, was that so much to ask for?


	19. Dogs will eat anything

"Desperation can make a person do surprising things."

― Veronica Roth, Allegiant

* * *

There wasn't enough money. There wasn't enough time. The changing of the season brought less and less customers both to the bar and to the club. Elizabeth's wallet was drying up fast.

She was losing hope, nearly as fast as she was losing savings. She had picked up as may shifts as she could at the club, even going so far as to work double shifts at the bar. But it still just wasn't enough.

She was seated at a booth, a trio of men, each with a woman wrapped in their arms bantering on about stocks or something similar. She didn't keep up with the conversation, simply nodding and looking pretty. That's all she was anyways. A tool to make rich, often times adulterous men feel better about themselves.

She watched as one of the men snaked his hand up a girl's arm, fingers inching up like a tarantula, sickly and jerky movements. She tried to shake him off - the club did have a no-touch rule after all, though it was more of less up to the girls to decide how far a john could go.

She felt sick to her stomach. These men weren't unlike a few others she had entertained during her time here, but something about their air just put her off.

The same tarantula man leaned into the girl's ear, whispering something directly into her ear. She made a face somewhere between disgust and pity, swallowing hard before stiffening. The man took the opportunity to grab hold of her breast, kneading the flesh openly.

She was about to say something when she felt a cold hand land on her thigh. Her own john, a middle aged man who could use some mouthwash if she were to be honest was slowly caressing her exposed skin. Nausea washed over her in a harsh wave.

"You seem troubled, young miss." The man whispered against her ear, rancid breath hot against her ear. "Most women don't work in a place like this by choice. If you need money-" he trailed further up her thigh -"I know a few ways to earn a quick buck."

Elizabeth pushed him off of her, chest heaving and mind racing from anxiety. Was he just implying she prostitute herself?!

The trio of men let out a roar of laughter, their fat bellies jiggling through their blazers and misaligned teeth reminding her of wild dogs fangs. "Well, not everyone is as receptive I guess." The john said through the laughter, nodding towards the woman sitting across from Elizabeth.

The man's hand was no under her clothes, her cheeks glistened in the neon lights from where he had trailed his fat tongue up her throat. She didn't move, though her eyes were tightly held shut as if she were warding off a nightmare. It can't be real if you can't see it.

"Well, the offer still stands." The john said, taking his wallet out from his breast pocket. He tossed a business card onto the table. "If you ever change your mind, you know who to call."

The trio rose from their seats, brushing passed Elizabeth as they made their way towards the exit, their girls following closely behind. Elizabeth picked up the card, tempted to simply tear up the small scrap of paper.

Only… she couldn't bring herself to do it. She pocketed the card before returning to the dressing room. She wasn't that desperate...

Yet.


	20. Same Thing

"Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real."

― Cormac McCarthy, All the Pretty Horses

* * *

The faint glow of burning embers were all he could make out, the sweet scent of tobacco fresho on the air. Meliodas rest against his car, both hands shoved into his pockets as he waited.

For reasons unknown to him (though, in all honesty it was most likely simply to annoy him), Estarossa had volunteered to come with him to this little meet-up. Their father had voiced no objections - much to Meliodas' irritation - to his tailing along.

Estarossa was the middle son, the second in line to take over their fathers place in his not-too-far-off retirement. The experience was a plus. Not to mention Estarossa was the one who found this lead in the first place.

Turns out all those nights spent in stripper joints wasn't just to have something to jerk off to later. Who would've guessed.

His brother pulled a long drag, embers from his cigarette glowing brighter from the increase of oxygen. They had stayed in relative silence this entire time, and it was beginning to drive Meliodas insane.

"So, the group from that one strip joint were actually a solid hit." He drawled out, wincing at how loud his own voice sounded after being surrounded by silence for so long.

Estarossa finished off his smoke, stomping it out on the pavement like one might stomp on a bug. "Yeah. John and his crew have good ties with various drug dealers from Argentina. If we can secure this deal it'll add a whole new chain route."

Meliodas sighed. More drugs only meant more killing later. His father rarely kept middle parties around for long. In the end it would still fall on him or Zeldris to clean up the mess.

"Not to mention," Estarossa continued as he slouched casually against the brick wall behind them, "We spotted out a great new spot for side money in that transaction as well."

"You mean the club?" Meliodas asked, a twinge of interest in his voice. "Delicious Angels, or whatever it was called? What interest would Father have in that place?"

Estarossa brought a hand down to his elder brother's shoulder. "Whore's bring loose lipped leads and great money. Never doubt the lengths a bitch will go to when she's desperate."

Meliodas was about to open his mouth to say something, only to be stopped as the heavy metallic sound of the warehouse doors echoed through the area.

The club would have to wait for some other time. Though, he would be lying if he said that the whole prospect didn't leave a sour taste in his mouth.


	21. Don't Look At Me Like That

Don't walk in front of me… I may not follow  
Don't walk behind me… I may not lead  
Walk beside me… just be my friend  
-Albert Camus

* * *

She was tired. Beyond exhausted. She felt like she could drop at any moment.

The rush of working as an escort at the club had run out. Her honeymoon period with her one sinful act was passed its prime. Now, she was just tired.

Elizabeth stood at the bar. It was well passed noon but the lunch rush never seemed to start. She was fighting to stay awake. Arthur wiped away at some cutlery, dropping the metal tools into a basket for Elizabeth to wrap in napkins. Each clink of metal dropping on metal jolted her back to her senses.

She was sure Arthur asked her a question. His hands stilled on a beat up, chipped dinner knife, a towel held firmly in his right hand. What's something Arthur would ask? Did he ask if I was tired? If I was okay?

"Sorry, did you say something?" Elizabeth opted to reply.

He sighed, a stray tress of his spiked hair falling out of place."I said that you look like you were hit by a bus."

Arthur dropped the knife into the basket, the clang jolting her awake once more. Was it really that obvious? "I feel like I was hit by a train - so a bus is an upgrade."

Arthur dropped the towel, leaning forward so both elbows rested on the counter. He looked at her with eyes she couldn't look back into - eyes of innocence, eyes of expecting the best of her, eyes of love, care, concern.

Eyes that looked at her in every way she didn't deserve.

"Look. I don't know what's been going on with you. You never talk to me anymore, you barely show up for your shifts, you've got this sudden air about you that seems untouchable." Arthur looked away, finally taking away that piercing gaze on her. "I feel like I've lost my friend. Like you're a different person now."

Elizabeth was taken aback. "Oh, Arthur. I'm still the same old Elizabeth."

"I hope so." Arthur resumed where he left off wiping down cutlery. "I want my old friend back, before she's gone for good."

Elizabeth didn't reply, couldn't reply - instead picking up a fork and knife and wrapping it in a napkin.

Before she's gone for good…


	22. I Fear I've Been Laying With The Devil

Jesus Christ, that's a pretty face

The kind you'd find on someone I could save

If they don't put me away

Well, it'll be a miracle

-Jesus Christ, Brand New

* * *

Where she was soft, he was hard.

Where she was smooth, he was rough.

He could see her standing in the doorway, a tight red dress and stark black stiletto heels nearly cutting into her skin. Nearly matching the colour of blood that seemed to trail behind her.

Was she hurt? Meliodas tried to approach her, but no matter how close he got she always seemed out of his reach.

 _Drip, drip, drip_. The blood fell in a rhythmic pattern, almost like a mellow drumbeat, or even a mother's heart. It was morbidly soothing, and before he knew it his eyes drifted shut, and he was falling.

There was no gut wrenching feeling of freefall, no wind wiping past his face, no ground to be seen. There was only darkness. Darkness, and the steady _drip, drip, drip_ of blood off in the distance.

The girl turned, extending her perfectly manicured hand towards him. She was closer now - close enough to touch - to grab, to hold close and never let go.

Her blue eyes begged him to take hold wordlessly, but he could not comply. He knew that touching her meant bringing her down with him.

He could not be saved. Not by her, not by anyone.

" _Meliodas, you don't have to be alone."_ Her soft voice cuts through the fog, lighting up the darkness. He feels his fall slow to a gentle glide. _I can't take your hand_ he tries to say, but the words are caught in his throat. _I'll only corrupt you._

She reached down, grabbing hold of him, jerking him from the fall and onto solid land. _I don't care if you break me, corrupt me, soil me. I can't do this without you, and you can't do this without help either._

He protests, tries to push her away, but he's caught. Caught in those blue eyes. Caught in her porcelain skin - the way her hair frames her face just right and her eyelashes seem to kiss her cheeks.

"Meliodas." She says, her voice clear as day. "I won't leave your side."

"And I won't leave yours." He concedes,

" _Elizabeth."_

* * *

Meliodas jerked awake, violently springing forward in bed. Liz lay by his side, naked with a sheen of sweat still sticking to her like satin.

She stirred, but did not wake. Meliodas did not fall back asleep that night.


	23. Silver and Red

When the World surrounds you, I'll make it go away

Paint the sky with silver lining

-Hurts, _Silver Lining_

* * *

Silver streaked through the corner of his vision like rain dripping down window panes. Silver hats, silver headbands, silver handbags. Every small decoration from a hipster cafe to some high end office seemed to glimmer brighter than ever before. For once, something in his world seemed to shimmer where it never had before.

 _He was going insane._

Estarossa shifted in the seat beside him, jostling the leather with a small squeaking sound. His brother must have told their driver to pull over since he was pulling into a parking lot now. Meliodas wasn't paying much attention, his senses only waking up when Estarossa tapped him on the shoulder.

They left the car, completely on auto pilot. A silver bicycle whizzed passed them, it's silver bell shining in the glare from oncoming headlights. Estarossa slammed his door closed, causing a flock of nearby pigeons to take off. Grey, downy feathers fluttered around them. Silver I.D tags dangled on their feet.

Estarossa took off in front of him. His hair seemed dull, almost like it hadn't been washed in awhile. To be honest, it probably wasn't. His brother's silver watch looked like a splash of white paint against his black suede jacket. "Mel." Estarossa said in a hoarse voice that sounded far away, "are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah." He lied. "I'm fine. Why?"

"You've been spacey since you disappeared to wherever it is you go." Estarossa continued, "I don't really care what you do in your free time - but if it's affects your negotiation skills… well, then it becomes my business. Understand?"

He was talking about Liz's place - the one place he went without telling anyone else. His threat held weight. Estarossa was known for finding things people didn't want found. If he wanted to, he would find Liz. _He would hurt her._

"You don't need to worry." Meliodas tightened his fists in his pockets, fighting to maintain composure - to hold himself back from ringing his brothers neck where they stood. A silver haired woman walked into a building across the street. "I just had too much to drink last night."

Estarossa chuckled softly to himself, regaining his gait. The area seemed incredibly familiar. Had he been here before, perhaps at night? Silver hubcaps on a bus, silver rollerblades on a woman who rushed passed - a red cardinal perched in a dead tree.

Meliodas' phone buzzed in his pocket. Estarossa came to a halt before he could reach to answer. "We're here." He said smugly. "Our new base of operations. She's all yours, brother."

Neon lights bled onto the street, illuminating each crack and blade of stray grass. A nude woman cast in neon tubing welcomed all those towards the double doors. The sign read _"Delicious Angels! Come for the company, stay for the food!"_

He pulled out his phone. _One missed call from Liz._


	24. Every Bird Must Fall

"Do you ever wonder why things have to turn out the way they do?"

― Nicholas Sparks, A Walk to Remember

* * *

Elizabeth stepped out of her dressing room, masterfully strutting towards a hollywood mirror in her stilettos. She was dancing tonight, so she wanted to look more put-together than she usually did. The more extravagant and over the top, the more tips you went home with, after all.

It only took a moment to swipe on her primer and foundation. With a single brush stroke of her wrist, her eyeliner formed a perfect cat eye. She dabbed on blood red lipstick, finishing with a dusting of blush on her cheekbones. Her body was her canvas, and she was it's Picasso.

She stood up, noting the way her sequin dress shimmered in the dimmed lights. She gave a shake, making the room explode with millions of tiny sparkles. She didn't mean to brag, but she felt as good as she looked; and she looked _amazing._

She heard her name being called on the mic. _Show time._

Stepping out onto the stage, all eyes were on her. She watched as dozens of eyes lit up in her presence. She felt like a sex goddess, and the audience was filled with her loyal followers, desperate for her attention.

She swished her hips in tune with the music, pausing when the crowd erupted in cheer. She kicked up, turning slowly, seductively towards them - giving them a view of her side, yet not enough to fully satisfy their pallets. They hollered for more, tips already fluttering down on the stage. Well, since you asked so nicely…

Elizabeth took hold of the pole, grinding up and down the cold metal sensually. She had become a master of the craft, and as she twirled around on the stage she truly lost herself in the music.

From on top the stage, it was incredibly difficult to make out the audience. But, for some reason, a flash of blond caught her attention. She had seen him before - the blond man accompanied by the the man with hair as white as hers. She winked in his direction before she continued to dance, knowing he would see her better than she could see him.

The music continued on for what felt like an eternity. When it had finally died down, her heart was beating loudly in her ears, her chest heaving heavily for air. She had never felt so free.

Bowing to her audience, Elizabeth stepped up to the edge of the stage, collecting the bills that were still raining down on her, pleased when she saw the bold 20, 50 and even 100 build up in her hands.

"Elizabeth?" A familiar voice called. She could barely hear it over the sound of her own beating pulse. She glanced up, her blood running cold as she saw the familiar mop of orange hair standing directly in front of her.

 _"Arthur."_


End file.
